Scribblings and Random Things
by Wannabe Darklord
Summary: A collection of my first attempts at writing Twisting the Hellmouth's FFAs. So far, the crossovers include LOTR, HP, Star Trek, 'Allo 'Allo, POTC, Firefly, Andromeda, Lost, Heroes, Austin Powers, Sweeney Todd and Doctor Who.
1. Interrogation methods

Title: Interrogation Methods

FFA pairing: Drusilla/Herr Flick

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, places, etc. mentioned in the fics. They all belong to people far richer and more productive than me.

A/N: These are my first attempts at writing FFAs for TTH. I'll be updating my other story as soon as I get over this blasted cold (I hate headaches). Reviews are welcome and highly appreciated.

* * *

Herr Flick frowned. Or he would have, had he been inclined to any changes of expression. This specimen was proving quite resilient to his questioning.

"Enough of these games! You will reveal the location of the knockwurst sausage! You have been seen carousing with the Resistance, what do you know of their plans?" he said, stiffly coming up face to face with the chained, blood spattered, dark haired woman. She merely laughed, a crazy gleam in her eyes.

"They shattered so prettily. The stars screamed in protest. Tap, tap, tapping, splash their blood went," she giggled, then abruptly sobered, "Where is my Spike?"

"Silence! It is I who is doing the questioning, not you!"

His ire was cut short at the glare she shot at him. She was staring at him with a dark and intense gaze. Herr Flick felt the slightest flicker of unease pass through him. Now that he thought about it, it was strange that she had been so unaffected by all of his best interrogation methods. She had not even flinched when he had played upon his Diabolical Organ; instead, she had hummed along. If he had not known that she was in league with the Resistance, that fact would have been something to admire.

"Where is my sausage, woman?"

"You won't find the fallen Madonna, little stone," she hissed, "The party was fun and we all danced. Screams and bones breaking. Laughter in the dust." Herr Flick stiffly took one step backwards, the grip on his cane tightening. This strange woman was beginning to unnerve him, not that he could let such a thing show, being a member of the Gestapo.

"The others screamed. I wonder…" Suddenly Herr Flick was pushed up against the dungeon wall, the woman's hand in a vice-like grip around his throat. How had she gotten free from her chains so quickly? Her nails dug in; little trickles of blood flowing from the wounds. Okay, now he was worried.

"Will you scream? I so do like it when they scream," she said, a slow smile spreading across her face.

"Unhand me at once! I am Flick of the Gestapo! I will have you shot for such insubordination!"

"Enough!" she growled and he found himself staring at a face straight from his nightmares. Her glowing golden eyes held him captivated with fear.

"Now," she purred as her face smoothed over into her beautiful visage once again, "Miss Edith tells me you've been a very naughty boy."

* * *

** Fin**


	2. Wrong Turn

Wrong Turn

FFA pairing: Harmony/Legolas

* * *

Legolas silently wondered how he had gotten into this mess. One moment he had been wondering through Mirkwood, on the hunt for giant spiders and the next thing he knew he was inside of a most garishly coloured room, having the breath squeezed out of him. A most horrible squealing noise was assaulting his sensitive ears as well. His first impulse had been to impale the perpetrator with his long knife, but he soon realized that, while overly enthusiastic, the person, the very young, blonde and female person hugging him meant him no harm. That is, if she ever released him, he was going to run out of air otherwise.

"Oh my God! Wait 'til I tell Cordy that I have _the_ hottest elf in my room! She is _so _going to blow a fuse!" Harmony happily squealed; her arms tightly wrapped around her favourite fictional elf.

* * *

**Fin **


	3. Playmates

Playmates

FFA pairing: Minerva McGonagall/ Miss Kitty Fantastico

* * *

"Mreow?" Miss Kitty batted her companion playfully trying to entice it to play. The other cat merely moved to sit on the other side of the street. The tabby then turned all of its attention towards one of the suburb houses, unremarkable but for the people living in it. Miss Kitty happily followed her new 'playmate', once more trying to engage it in a good round of wrestling. Being a cat, Miss Kitty paid no heed to the annoyed glare the other cat turned her way.

"Miss Kitty?" called a voice. The kitten delightedly purred upon seeing her mistress coming out of the house the other strange cat was watching. She bounded up to the redhead, rubbing against her, batting at her hair when picked up. Her mistress giggled.

"Miss Kitty Fantastico! How many times do I have to tell you to not go out of the house?" Her owner mock lectured.

"Mreow!"

The redhead giggled and snuggled Miss Kitty closer to her. Then she finally noticed the stiffly sitting older tabby.

"Aw, you've found yourself a new playmate. Want me to take her home with us so you can play some more?" She asked her cat. Miss Kitty batted at her nose. When her mistress turned to the other cat, she found it had disappeared. With a confused frown, she shrugged and took Miss Kitty back inside.

Emerging from behind the bush she had hid in, Minerva McGonagall, watched as Willow Rosenberg took her little cat inside the house she was supposed to be infiltrating on Order business. Despite having been handed the perfect opportunity earlier, there was no way in Hell that she would be entering a house whose occupants named their pets something so inane as Miss Kitty Fantastico! Maybe a more direct approach was needed.

* * *

**Fin **


	4. Fighting and Verbal Sparring

Fighting and Verbal Sparring

FFA pairing: Faith/Boromir

* * *

"Yo, B!" Boromir would have sighed at the name had he not been so busy. As it was he just turned around to face Faith, barely catching the axe she had thrown at him. In a swift move, he swung it around and decapitated the nearest orc. This in turn, enabled him to dive for his sword which he had been forced to drop at some point in the orcs' assault.

Rolling to a crouch, he took a moment to admire the way Faith was fighting a few feet away. The term poetry in motion came to mind as she slashed, hacked, kicked and punched her way through the mass of slavering creatures.

Springing up with a roar, Boromir similarly started attacking their foes. If there was one thing he absolutely _hated_ it was orcs suddenly attacking their campsite when he was asleep. Well, that and Faith's endless nicknames for him. So far he had been called B, Boro, B-man, Captain Crunch and General Asshole. He particularly disliked the last one. He beheaded the next orc with a vicious swing, making its head roll quite a distance away. After the first time, he didn't really think it wise to take out his frustrations on a Slayer. Mauling orcs however, was just as good of a substitute and even considered to be socially acceptable behaviour.

Finally, after they both had a bit of breathing space, he retorted, "How many times have I told you to not call me that?"

She grinned at him saucily, "Never enough to make me stop Boro, never enough."

"You are the most insubordinate little _prick_ that I have had the misfortune to encounter, you do realize?"

"Pfft," she glibly retorted killing another orc, "And you're not the most stuck up tight ass I've had the pleasure to meet, so what's your point?" She smirked at him.

"But you're still here, B," she gave a healthy leer, "And I can't say I'm complaining." And with his last swing, the last orc was finally killed, leaving him to smirk at her.

"You are not complaining, my dear Slayer," Boromir said with a faintly mocking tone, "because I have not given you reason nor opportunity to complain. Not that you would if I did." Matching his smirk, she sidled up to him.

"Oh really."

"Really, as you would say. And I don't ever plan to give you an opportunity." With that, Boromir spun on his heel and began salvaging whatever remained of their camp. Gulping, Faith just watched him move across the area, stepping over orcs and even giving one a good-natured kick.

"Hot damn, B" she muttered, "If I don't get laid soon, I'm gonna _jump_ your bones."

* * *

**Fin **


	5. Fortune Telling

Fortune Telling

FFA pairing: Jenny Calendar/Aragorn

* * *

This dark stranger was definitely intriguing, she mused as he sat down across from her. He watched her with wary sea grey eyes; the only visible features she could discern from under his heavy cloak. She just smiled the same enigmatic smile she did with all of her customers and merely reached out a hand.

After a moment's contemplation, he held out his own. As he did, she noticed his worn and stained outfit. So this one was a Ranger, she thought. They rarely made use of her services. Very well, it was no matter of hers.

She silently turned her attention to his hand, feeling the calluses and scars on it as he shifted restlessly in front of her. He had the longest life line she had ever seen, curious. A great destiny as well. He was a born leader, she could tell. He shifted again, breaking her concentration.

"Well, gypsy?" he asked in a soft tone, too low for anyone else to hear. She smiled that smile enigmatic smile again and turned her attention back towards his palm.

"You will have a long life," she began, "filled with as much sorrow as joy. There will be a dark time," she traced a finger along his palm, "but you will lead and you will triumph." She glanced up at his disbelieving snort. "You lack faith in yourself, Ranger." She looked down again. "Many doubts will assail you; death will set you on the correct path. You will face great evil, and you will defeat it," she said with a sad smile. She pushed her now-long hair out of her face before continuing, "You are not bound to the past, Ranger, do not hide from it." Her grip on his hand tightened when he tried to pull away. She met those stormy eyes once more, slightly awed at the hidden power in his gaze. "Remember, Ranger, the sky is always darkest before dawn." When he attempted to get away again, she let him.

"My thanks gypsy," he stiffly said, throwing a bag of coins on the table, leaving quickly.

Silently, Janna, formerly known as Jenny Calendar, picked it up. It held far too many coins, but she was not going to argue over something freely given. After counting them, she continued to quietly sit in her chair in the corner of a tavern in a world far from her own, wondering if that strange man was the reason the Powers had set her on this path.

* * *

**Fin **


	6. Resistance is Futile

Resistance is Futile

FFA pairing: Illyria/Borg Queen

* * *

Illyria stalked down the uniform halls, searching for whoever was in charge of this strange vessel she had suddenly found herself in. It did not please her to be so suddenly displaced, especially when it seemed that this area was also filled with humans. If they had not been so beneath her notice, she would have been mildly impressed that they had managed to free themselves from the confines of their world and take to the stars.

As it was, she felt a growing ire towards the one who was responsible for her relocation. She had already encountered several life forms who had pitifully attempted to halt her progress further into the ship. Illyria had studied the first few with a passing curiosity. They were different from the humans in her dimension, enhanced with technology and far superior to the other worms, if less pleasing to look at. She had smashed through them with ease.

They were foolish if they thought two thin tubes extended from their arms would defeat her. She gave a fleeting thought as to their purpose, before dismissing it and halting in frustration. Loathe though she was to admit it, even to herself, her wondering served no purpose. The corridors were irritatingly similar and coloured in a manner which did nothing to calm her. Finally, drawing upon her memories of the shell, she looked around, wondering if these strange creatures also relied upon computers. There was a good chance that they did, from what she had seen of them.

She approached a flickering black panel. Quizzically, Illyria cocked her head to one side. Even with the shell's memories, the markings on the panel made no sense to her. Growling, she smashed her fist through the computer terminal.

"I demand to know the location of the leader of this vessel!"

She was mildly surprised when there was a crackling noise around her in answer.

"V-voice…rec-recognition…fai-" there were a few weak beeps and static, 'unauthorized access. Identity verificatio-" more beeps.

"I am Illyria, God-king of the Primordium! I demand to know where the leader is located!" She imperiously stared at the ceiling, where the voice first seemed to originate.

"Captain Jean Luc Picard is currently located in main engineering," a surprisingly cool female voice answered in response.

"Show me."

"Please follow the arrows as they light up."

Finally pleased at making some progress, Illyria graciously decided to spare the insolent voice, wherever it came from, for presuming that she should lower herself to following signs on the wall. Nevertheless, she followed the flickering panels. Many were dark, or showed for only brief moments, but it was enough for her to follow to her destination.

As Illryia progressed further into the vessel, the halls grew darker. She noticed foreign pieces of technology imbedded into the walls, scorch marks and a few bodies littered here and there. Ah, so she was in the middle of a battle, or perhaps a takeover, she mused as the darker pieces of metal glowed with a green light. It explained the emptiness of the vessel.

The last sign stopped in front of two large, wide and smooth panels, which she presumed were doors. Confidently she strode towards them, smashing through with nary a thought when they did not open quickly enough.

A woman of the unfamiliar machine species and an old man lacking hair stared at Illyria as she walked towards them. She was sufficiently appeased by their looks of wonder to not kill them both on sight. Besides, she required answers.

She turned her icy stare towards the weak human, dismissing the other for the same unintelligent drones she had seen previously.

"Are you the one that voice with no form referred to as Captain Jean Luc Picard?"

Her lips twitched in faint disgust as the man recovered from her presence enough to answer, noting also the regal way the female held herself. Perhaps she was the leader of that worthless rabble.

"Yes, it is I. Who are you and what are you doing on my ship?"

Illyria sneered at him, grabbing him by the throat and lifted him. She was faintly amused that the woman did nothing to help her companion. A rival for command of the vessel, then?

"Do not presume to play games with me, mortal! You were the one to bring me to this strange place, were you not? It displeases me. I will crush you like worms beneath my feet, much like you are. Your spine will serve as my trophy." She shook him, before remembering that his species needed air to communicate. She released him, watching as he dropped to his knees, coughing. Pitiful.

Two small pinpricks at her neck made Illyria turn her attention towards the still silent female. They broke upon attempting to pierce her skin. As the woman recoiled with a gasp of surprise, Illyria took the moment to sneer at her disdainfully.

"You presume that such feeble weaponry will defeat me? Then you are little better than your slaves which I have encountered journeying here."

Collecting herself, the eerie woman drew up into a regal posture.

"I am Queen of the Borg. And you will surrender. We are the Borg," she said in a silky and imperious voice, "We will ad your biological distinctiveness to our own."

"You have no hope of ever grasping even the merest fraction of my power. I will not be subjugated to your foolish whims, Queen. I am Illyria, God-king, shaper of things. I will not be ruled, nor will I ever follow such an inferior race as yours. You should bow down before me. Your race would be of more use to me than the human muck," Illyria finished benevolently, an amused air about her. She watched as the unworthy queen made to stab her again.

Illyria knocked the tubes out of the way, growing annoyed.

"Resi -" the Queen tried to say before Illyria had her throat in a crushing grip.

"It is inevitable that you kneel before your better. You would do well to resist me less. I might be merciful enough to let you live and grant you a position in my army. Resistance is futile, Borg Queen!"

The Queen snarled at her, swiping at her again with her arm. The blow did not faze Illyria in the slightest. She inclined her head.

"Very well." With a snap, the Queen's neck was broken. "You will be one less rival for my power." Dropping the Queen's body and being disregarding of it as dirt, she turned once again to the hairless man who was staring at the body in amazement.

"It is obvious you do not have the power to draw my presence into your dimension," she spat out coldly, not in the least appeased at killing the unnatural creature. She turned her back on the human.

"Her army is beneath my dignity to lead. They will be scattered like dust in the wind. Your subjects will be spared if they do not interfere; they have done little to irk me," she shot back over her shoulder, stalking out of the large room with the glowing column. "I wish to do more violence."

* * *

**Fin **


	7. Strange Encounter

Title: Strange Encounter

FFA pairing: Wesley/Jack Sparrow (POTC)

Disclaimer: I don't own them and I'm not making money off of them.

* * *

"So, Mr. Sparrow-"

"_Captain _Sparrow!"

Wesley Wyndham-Price dryly regarded the strange man sitting in front of him.

"Mm, yes quite." He shuffled the papers on his desk slightly. "I have been informed that you are searching for a certain artefact-"

"That's right. A compass. Very old. My grandfather was very fond of it – sort of a family heirloom you could say," Mr. Sparrow's expression turned very serious as he leaned towards Wesley, abandoning his comfortable sprawl in the chair, "I want it back."

Wesley narrowed his eyes until Sparrow took the hint and leaned back, fiddling with the tie around his neck. He obviously felt very out of place in that suit. Wesley managed to suppress a smirk. Clearing his throat, he began again, absently noting that Mr. Sparrow had almost moulded to the chair again.

"Yes, be as that may be, what makes you think that my…organization has it, Mr. Sparrow? We don't seem to have such an artefact on record." He clasped his hands in front of him and gave Mr. Sparrow a small smile, conveniently hiding the large file they had on this certain individual. Personally, he thought some of those stories were quite far fetched. Especially those vague rumours that this man in front of him was far older than he seemed. Fountain of Youth, indeed!

Mr. Sparrow eyed Wesley's clasped hands distrustfully, tensing slightly.

"_Captain! Captain Sparrow,"_ the man muttered under his breath. He collected himself after a moment and grinned charmingly at the sceptical Watcher, his whole mood shifting like a tidal wave.

"Oh, I think that you know that I know that you know why I think that you might help me find this…heirloom, savvy?"

Wesley blinked at that sentence, frowning slightly at the last word. Sparrow seemed to catch the mistake as well; a flicker of a grimace passed across his face before the smile returned full force.

All of a sudden Wesley's office rocked slightly as an explosion sounded in a far part of the building. Alarmed, Wesley ran out of his office, momentarily forgetting about his visitor.

When he bemusedly returned five minutes later, it was only to find his strange visitor gone, the drawer where he had placed the legendary compass (in hopes of using it as a bargaining chip) forced open and his hidden liquor cabinet cleaned out.

Wesley groaned. The Watcher's Council was not going to be pleased.

Fin


	8. A light to you in dark places

Title: A light to you in dark places

FFA pairing: Angel/Arwen(LOTR)

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

A/N: Takes place during the BtVS episode Beauty and the Beasts. It's also an entry for TTH100, prompt #57 Star. And if anyone can correct my elvish, please do so :)

* * *

Angel shivered as he crouched on the cold floor, oblivious to his surroundings. His mind was still trapped in the hell that he had visited and his body still ached from the pain he had been put through. He whimpered, pulling at the chains holding him to this place. It smelled of pain, blood, fire and death, with only the faintest hint of something else underneath it. Something that called to him, invoking an impression of safety and warmth.

He growled, frustrated that the chains wouldn't give, terrified that somebody would come and continue the pain. Angel stopped his frantic jerks at that thought and collapsed on the floor. He had to be quiet, maybe they wouldn't notice him if he was quiet. Angel jerked slightly as memories filled his broken mind. He whimpered again, curling in on himself. He just wanted it all to _stop_.

A bright light suddenly flooded his vision. Angel flinched away from it, scrambling to a crouch, his back firmly pressed against the stone wall. A pitiful sound emerged from his lips in fear as he watched the figure that had appeared.

She was dressed in a pure white dress that contrasted with her long, dark hair. Her face glowed with an inner light and her blue eyes sparkled, bringing forth memories of starlight. The jewel around her neck glimmered with its own light. She was…nothing like he had ever seen before and she calmed something in him as he looked at her. There hadn't been anything like her where he had been and that reassured him - but not by much.

Angel still flinched when she got closer to him, her light footsteps inaudible over the clanking noise his chains made as he shivered. She knelt before him and he shrank against the wall, still watching her, captivated, but afraid. She silently studied him with those bright eyes and he was struck by a fleeting thought that he struggled to hold on to. So many things had made little sense to him for so long; it was important that he remembered.

His brow furrowed slightly. The woman did nothing but watch him calmly with those ancient eyes. She was far older than she seemed. Angel found himself staring into their depths, unable to look away. There was sadness in them, but so much peace as well. He looked away, overcome with a feeling he couldn't describe.

A light touch upon his cheek startled him and he flinched, shutting his eyes tightly. He trembled. Her fingers were smooth and soft as they ghosted over his face. Angel started panting, fear churning inside him. He choked as he tried to hold back the sobs which threatened to emerge. A light pressure under his chin made him open his eyes. Her face still shined and a small, sad smile was upon her lips as she wiped away the tears that had managed to escape.

"Avo 'osto, Cyllion." (_Fear not, Angel)_

Angel flinched at her soft voice, but did not look away, her words stirring something inside him. His tremors stopped.

"Im Arwen Undomiel . Telin le thaed." (_I am Arwen Undomiel. I have come to help you._)

Her eyes did not waver from his. Her fingers moved across his face again.

"Estelio nin," (_Trust me_) she almost whispered. His skin tingled from her touch and warmth spread through him from where her fingers rested. Her hand moved to where his heart should have been beating.

"Nesto, Cyllion. Garo îdh." (_Heal, Angel. Rest.)_

Angel's eyes fluttered closed, letting her words wash over him; a peace which he had never felt before filling him. It took away some of the endless heartache and pain. He no longer felt so afraid.

He felt her lips press against his brow softly, light as a feather. Angel relaxed, feeling safe for the first time since he had found himself outside that hell dimension. He had wanted to feel safe for so _long_.

He slumped to the floor slowly, falling into a deep sleep. The ethereal woman was still beside him, running soothing fingers through his hair, keeping a silent vigil.

When Angel later awoke, his mind clearer than before and clutching the star shaped pendant that the woman had worn, only the faint memory of starlight remained.

Fin


	9. Many Meetings

**Many Meetings **

**FFA pairing: **Spike/Legolas (LOTR)

**A/N: **Also a tth100 entry.

* * *

Legolas stumbled through the chaotic streets as fast as his injury could allow. He grimaced at the blood seeping from the ugly gash in his side, bemoaning that he had gotten it not in battle, but rather through his own carelessness. Still, it was rather easy to miss pieces of rubble when all of the mortals around him were panicking, screaming and fighting. The burning fires were also a bit difficult to manoeuvre around with peasants jostling and pushing him. And never in a million years would Legolas Thranduilion admit that the cause of his impalement on a rather sharp piece of rubble was such a mortal thing as a _stumble_.

He cursed under his breath when another person bumped into him, jostling his wound. Two more followed in quick succession. Legolas frowned, his keen eyesight piercing through the thick smoke to a nearby square. One which people were running from. He hoped this was a sign of his quarry. Although he had no intention of slacking the pursuit, he would not have been pleased if the chase lasted all night. With a flicker of annoyance, he wondered what had happened to the slaying partner who was _supposed _to be helping him. It was disconcertingly easy to get separated in this chaos. More screams from up ahead spurred him onward.

Legolas fingered the long knife sheathed at his side, cursing once more the bad luck which had led to him losing his quiver and bow. Luckily, the bow wasn't the one he had received from the Galadhrim, still highly valued even after all of this time. Well, the knife would have to do, even against so deadly a foe as the Scourge of Europe. He had been tracking him throughout the world and the damned vampire was strangely elusive. It should have been easy to follow the unfortunate trail of bodies, but for various unknown reasons, Angelus had been laying low for quite some time.

Still, he was determined to put an end to this threat that had arisen when he had been delayed elsewhere. Vampires were hardly the most deadly demons around, after all. But every once in a while a few like Angelus surfaced and their power was almost always annoyingly linked to their bloodlines, so if you had to face one, chances were you had to face more of them.

Sure enough, as he silently raced ahead through the panicking populace, he caught a glimpse of four figures confidently walking along the burning streets as if they had nary a care in the world. They walked with a confident grace, as if this town was theirs to possess. They looked upon it with predatory eyes, automatically culling the weak and wounded in their minds. For all of their finery, there was no doubt to Legolas' elvish senses as to what they were – demons wearing human faces.

A group of bedraggled looters obscured his view of the vampire foursome and in the time it took Legolas to move to get a better view, they had disappeared. It seemed that the Valar were looking elsewhere tonight! He was being inconvenienced at almost every turn. Legolas ducked into a side street, hoping to scramble up to the rooftops and get a better view. Pursuing such a foe in the middle of a rebellion was probably not one of his smarter ideas, but such full on combat that was likely to ensue could be ignored much better in the midst of so much chaos.

His skin prickled with the feeling of being watched. Legolas whipped around, abandoning his pursuit of the rooftops, only to look upon the lean figure of a young man covered in blood. Or more precisely, the figure of one of the three vampires following Angelus. Legolas cringed inwardly at the out of date information he had managed to scrounge up on Angelus; there had been no mention of a second male. At least he could be no more than 30 years of age. Still, the boy screamed demon and Legolas felt a moment of pity for the youth that had died. Swift disposal of the vampire would be a mercy.

The vampire was watching him with a leery gaze, silently appraising him as well. Legolas could see his nostrils flare slightly as he caught the scent of his blood and wrinkled his nose in disgust. The demon took a few steps forward casually and smirked.

"What's such a pretty boy like you doing in the midst of all this?" he asked. Legolas grimaced in distaste. He was not really given to having a conversation with those he was hunting. Still, it might buy him some time to get into a better position to cover his weak side.

"I could ask the same of you…" he trailed off. The demon bounced on the balls of his feet, a gleeful expression on his face, arrogance practically oozing off of him.

"For shame mate! Thought you'd have heard of me by now. Name's Spike. Actually, I should probably add something to it now. William the Bloody, Slayer of Slayers. Has a ring to it. What do you think?" Spike was almost bursting with pride. He clasped his hands together, tilting his head to look at Legolas' shocked expression. This creature had killed a Slayer? With a sinking feeling, Legolas knew what had happened to his hunting partner. It told much about the vampire's skill that he had been able to kill one of those Chosen warriors, for despite their age and gender, the Slayers were formidable fighters. Legolas cursed whomever had decided that those mortal girls, whose time was on this world was already so short, had to die so young.

Spike's mocking expression flickered with annoyance at Legolas' continued silence.

"What're you deaf?" he sniffed at the air again, "You ain't human that's for sure. What the bloody hell are you?"

Legolas stiffened.

"Never you mind, vampire."

Instead of getting angry as Legolas had expected, Spike just smiled and shrugged.

"Have it your way. Still bet you'd taste good," he grinned, showing all of his teeth, "Let's dance."

With those words, he launched himself at Legolas, who barely had enough time to manoeuvre out of the way. Spike released a snarl of frustration and the fight was on. Legolas was surprised and dismayed at the strength and speed of his opponent. He was millennia old! He would _not_ be bested by a common vampire!

But this vampire was proving anything but common. Legolas could almost feel the power of the Slayer blood humming through the vampire's body. And he himself was injured and weary. Somebody must really hate him up there.

Legolas thought he was holding up quite well under the circumstances when his foot slipped on loose rubble. The vampire wasted no time and Legolas was suddenly turned around, pulled to the vampire's chest and had fangs buried into his neck. He was released just as quickly, the vampire letting out a hiss of pain. Legolas smelled burning flesh and fought not to loose the meagre meal he had had. He was slammed into a wall, his head ringing from the blow. A hand clasped around his neck. Legolas gagged, the acrid smell assaulting his nose. Spike's curses were loud in his ears.

"What the bloody fuck are you?" Spike growled in his ear. Legolas blinked up dazedly into deadly yellow eyes tinged with pain. Gathering his wits about him, Legolas realized that it was the vampire that was burning! Coughing and choking, Legolas managed to bite out,

"What I am will forever be beyond your reach and comprehension, Rhacheb Pen!"

Spike jerked back as if slapped, anger and confusion warring on his face as his features slid back into his human mask. Legolas noted with satisfaction that the vampire's hand was red and burned, still smoking slightly. He shrugged of the disgust that he felt that such a creature had even dared to touch him and stared steadily at the demon.

This only seemed to anger the vampire even more. He stared straight back at Legolas, his eyes glittering with a cold rage.

"Don't need to use my fangs to kill you, ponce," he said softly, slowly advancing upon Legolas. Spike suddenly paused and cocked his head as if listening to something. A twisted smile graced his features and he kicked away the knife Legolas had been reaching for. Spike cruelly seized his neck again and slammed his head twice against the wall brutally.

Legolas vaguely registered the words "I'll be seeing you around, elf," before the pressure around his neck disappeared and the smell of burning flesh faded. He strained to focus around the ringing in his head and registered the vampire walking towards an arresting dark haired woman.

His vision blurred and he groaned, slumping against the dirty wall in a decidedly inelegant pose. If word got out about this encounter, Legolas grimly decided, he was never going to live it down.

* * *

A/N: Forgive the Sindarin, as I'm no expert in it. If anyone would like to correct me, by all means do so!

Rhacheb Pen – Cursed One


	10. Many Meetings, part II

**Many Meetings, part II**

A/N: Takes place during Dead Things.

* * *

The alley was surprisingly filthy from Spike's viewpoint. Of course, it probably would have looked better had he not been lying face down in the dirt, grit and trash strewn about it. He strangled his hysterical laughter before it turned into the sobs that had been threatening to escape his bruised lips. Spike coughed and moved slightly, unable to hold back the groan that escaped him as the pain registered in his beaten body.

His vision blurred and Spike blinked, trying to stay conscious. He knew that he would somehow have to make his way back into his crypt before the swiftly approaching sunrise, but that seemed like a petty concern next to the pain his body was in and the agony his mind and heart were experiencing.

Spike shuddered and he tried to frown. Vampires were not supposed to feel cold, but try as he might, Spike could not hold in the shivers wracking him. Even the slightest movement was painful. He gasped, cursing in his head as the reflexive action jarred his broken ribs.

Spike twitched his head slightly when he saw his right hand stretched out in front on him. How had his hand gotten there? He would have giggled had he had breath to spare. Was this shock? Probably didn't matter, he mused, his eyes tracing the barely visible scar trailing the edge of his palm.

His mind lingered on the night he had gotten it, the night he had killed his first Slayer. Spike's lips twitched into a grimace. But thinking of that night led to thinking about the other Slayer he had killed and that led to the one he had failed to kill, the one he had falle…he cut that line of thinking off. Best to preserve what was left of his sanity.

Dru had fussed over him to no end when he had shown up with that burn on his hand. It was one of the few nights that he had had what was left of her full attention focused solely on him. She had been so proud of him when he had killed the Chinese Slayer, but had fretted awfully over him after he had encountered that strange bloke after his victory. A spew of cryptic words had tumbled past her pretty lips when he had mentioned the strange man. Something about the Sun and…

"_Older than the Sun and Moon, my Spike." Her cool hand felt soothing on his own burned one. "Nasty, wicked creatures, burn so brightly, they do." She traced a fingernail over the angry red welts and Spike let out a hiss of mixed pain and pleasure. "Their spark is too pure to be touched by my dark knight," she let out a breathy sigh, ghosting over the injury, "Mmm…we _are_ the darker things in the deep places of the world." She smiled at him then, her eyes glinting in the flickering candlelight. _

Spike blinked and the memory faded. His mind was wandering, which was never a good thing. He would have grimaced if he had seen a point to it.

He remembered becoming slightly obsessed about that ethereal creature he had encountered after that. Drusilla's fractured story had awakened a curiosity about what exactly he had found. It had stirred a restlessness in him, a strange feeling that had he been asked, he would have denied being a longing for days long past and barely remembered memories.

Darla had never liked his wonder at Dru's mystifying stories, Spike recalled, his brow furrowing. He traced the scar with his thumb, his skin tingling with remembered pain.

_The slap echoed across the room and Spike stared at Darla with undisguised contempt. But he knew better than to retaliate. Darla sneered back at him, the picture of perfection, but for one stray wisp of hair trailing down her neck. Drusilla was standing next to her grandsire, distressed and wringing her hands. _

_Darla's gaze lingered on him, before she turned to Dru, her hands curling into claws at her side. Spike thought that she was not angry so much at them, but that another thing had her so riled up. Still, it hardly made a difference if the ones she was taking it out on were Dru and him. _

"_Stop filling his head with your insane ramblings! Elves and trees and stars! They're nothing but myths and legends that have long since been forgotten!" But the glimmer of fear in her eyes betrayed her and Spike wondered if he was the only one who had met that glowing myth which supposedly no longer existed. _

_With a last harsh glare, Darla exited their room in a swirl of rich fabric, leaving him seething with rage and Drusilla fraught with worry. She turned to him then, frantic "The Sun and Stars will burn you my Spike, mustn't be drawn in!"_

Spike must have blacked out for a moment, because when he opened his eyes again, the alley was filled with the grey light of pre-dawn. With a sense of detachment, Spike supposed he would burn to a crisp in this forgotten alley. He wondered if it would hurt as much as his hand had when he had touched his opponent. It had hurt for weeks afterwards, healing much slower than his other wounds, as if his hand had been soaked in holy water.

The faintest of crunches alerted Spike to another presence in the alley and he would have snorted but for the pain it would have caused him. Just what he needed right now, some other poor sod seeing him like this and him unable to lift even a finger in defense.

His worries proved true when he felt the cold hardness of steel cutting under his chin. Spike looked up and was not as surprised as he should have been upon seeing the same figure he had encountered in China so long ago. The man's (elf's?) eyes were a cold blue, a color so like his own, filled with a harsh anger and the faintest tinge of confusion.

The creature had an ethereal glow about it, a breathtaking quality that made Spike doubt that such a being could even exist among the rest of the world; he had not really noticed that when he had first saw the elf. Well, his own existence was about to be ended and wasn't there an irony that he was about to be killed by the person to whom he had almost done the same? Spike barked a coughing laugh then, which quickly turned into strangled sobs when a strange sadness overtook him.

The bloke was frowning now and his dainty little nose was wrinkled in confusion. Spike drew in a shuddering breath when he felt the lightest of touches upon his cheek. The fingers stilled suddenly, as if in surprise. Spike just closed his eyes in relief; the touch didn't burn.

Fin


	11. Reputation

**Reputation**

**FFA pairing:** Angelus/Niska (Firefly)

**A/N:** Th quote at the beginning and end that Angelus is sprouting off belongs to Shakespeare.

* * *

"Reputation, reputation, reputation! I have lost my reputation!" Angelus crowed as he barged his way through the door to Niska's office, arms spread wide and a smile on his face.

Niska stood up from behind his desk, a small frown tugging on his lips. He shook his head at the guards coming in after Angelus. He wanted some privacy to deal with him.

"Mr. Angel. You have not done what I asked you do. You are correct. Your reputation is not –"

"Shh!" Angelus waved a hand at Niska. He grinned at him, eyes glittering. "You didn't let me finish, I was just getting to the best part!" He glanced around pensively, thinking. "Now, where was I?"

"Mr. Angel. I think you do not understand. You do not do job for me. Your reputation not solid, only gossip, yes?"

Angelus sighed and rolled his eyes.

"I heard the spiel the first time. But," Angelus advanced on Niska with easy, measured steps, "I think I may have left out a little essential detail the last time we talked. Something rather important for your continued wellbeing."

"Details, does not matter now, Mr. Angel. You are not solid. Things between us not solid." Niska smiled genially at Angelus, but the slight fumbling with his hands betrayed his unease.

"My reputation, however, is. I show you when we made deal."

Angelus just chuckled at Niska's threat.

"You're amusing, you know that? Put on a little show and expect me to fall in line. I've crapped better torture routines. But you still don't get it, do you?"

Laughter was clearly not what Niska had been expecting. He narrowed his eyes and his smile became strained.

"What more do I need know? People gossiped. Angel gets jobs done without pesky complications. No…how shall I say? No moral issues."

Angelus' grin grew wider.

"Well, that's one way to put it." He took a step backwards. "But you really need to get better informers. Because that's only half the story."

Angelus flung out his arms dramatically again and began to speak in a loud voice,"I have lost the immortal part of me!"

He paused, put a hand to his chest and said in a normal tone, "It still stings when it goes, every time!"

Angelus stepped towards Niska's desk again, grinning at the other man's puzzlement and growing apprehension. He continued loudly, "And all that remains…" he lowered his voice menacingly, "is bestial."

Angelus leaned into Niska's face and let his demonic face to the fore. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the sudden scent of fear permeating the room and Niska's terrified expression.

"Now," he grabbed the front of Niska's suit, "let me show you how to get a _real_reputation."

Fin


	12. Home

**Title:** Home  
**Word count:** 200  
**Fandom: **Andromeda  
**Challenge: **#71 - a truth and a lie  
**Notes: **Written for the tthdrabbles LJ community. Reviews are always greatly appreciated!

* * *

"What was Earth like?"

The question breaks the stillness of Andromeda's observation deck, leaving Spike with the feeling that he should be annoyed. But Spike holds back the retort on the tip of his tongue, because the question came from Harper, the starship's resident engineer and fellow earthling.

Despite himself, Spike thinks about the planet he had left long ago and all of the pain and bloodshed that had happened there (some of it brought about by him) before his world had expanded to include three galaxies. Spike starts to reply, but pauses when he sees the not-quite-hidden longing on Harper's face.

"It was beautiful," he answers, his accent faded. Spike remembers what it means to be from Earth at this point in history; it is more of a Hell now than it has ever been, even before the demons had departed.

Harper's expression is slightly envious.

"Would you go back?"

Spike turns to look at Harper and once again sees echoes of the Scoobies in this scrawny kid who knows his dark secret, but strangely has no fear of him. It makes him long for simpler times.

"In a heartbeat, whelp, in a heartbeat." This time he doesn't lie.


	13. Special, Gifts and Strawberries

**Title:** Special  
**Word count:** 200  
**Fandom: **Firefly  
**Challenge: **#72 Remembered and Forgotten  
**Notes: **Don't own it! This was inspired by one of jedibuttercup's short fics.

* * *

Jayne Cobb was a simple man. Not in the sense that he was stupid, but in the sense that if you gave him a place to sleep, food in his belly, people to shoot and money to spend (maybe a whore or two), he'd be content with his lot in life.

He felt no need to go traipsing around the 'verse on some noble quests – although with Mal as his captain it seemed like that was all he ever did – and Jayne didn't care overmuch about doing the right thing. Other than being a great shot, he was nothin' special.

But on some nights, when he wasn't dreaming of a warm body, smooth hands and silken hair, he dreamt of power. He dreamt of a howling wolf, a mighty ram and a fleet-footed hart.

In those half-remembered dreams of the past, which left him sweating and shaking with unease upon waking, Jayne was special. But it was the _type_ of special that left him wanting to forget those gorram visions, talk to the Shepherd and maybe share a bit of his cut with the crew. After all, Jayne might have been a mercenary and thief, but he was no monster.

* * *

**Title:** Gifts  
**Word count:** 200  
**Fandom: **Firefly  
**Challenge: **#72 Remembered and Forgotten  
**Notes: **Don't own it!

* * *

"What are you doing?" Willow asked, watching Jayne struggle with what seemed to be a box and paper.

"What's it look like I'm doing? I'm trying to wrap this hun dan piece of paper 'round the package!"

"Oh." She watched him for a few moments. "Do you want me to…?" She wiggled her fingers. Jayne glared at her.

"Jien tah-duh guay! You keep your magic gos se away from me, dong ma?"

"Fine, fine. Again with the Chinese," Willow rolled her eyes. "Who's it for, anyway?"

Jayne mumbled something.

"What?"

He sighed.

"It's for my little sister. Her birthday's soon an' I didn't want to forget to wrap her present."

"Aww, that's so sweet!"

"Hey, there ain't nothin' sweet about me!"

"Right, sorry," Willow grinned, "this is so very manly and butch of you."

"An' don't you go forgetting that," Jayne said with a decisive nod.

"So," Willow slid into a seat at the table in Serenity's dining room.

"How is it that you remember your sister's birthday, but forget something as simple as taking the trash out?" Willow grinned.

"What? I didn't forget to take no trash out," he grumbled.

"JAYNE!" Mal's voice thundered through the ship.

"Aw, crap."

* * *

**Title:** Strawberries  
**Word Count:** 200  
**Fandom:** Firefly  
**Challenge:** #73 favourite things  
**Notes:** Don't own it.

* * *

Her eyes widened when she saw what the vendor was selling. Strawberries! Kaylee hopefully approached the stall. Sometimes even if she couldn't afford to buy a whole bunch of them, some of the vendors were kind enough to let her try one (_two sometimes if she upped the charm_).

She was in luck! The price wasn't too high and Kaylee had a bit of spare coin from her shopping for spare parts. She quickly bought as many strawberries as she could and briskly started back towards Serenity. The Capt'n would be mighty mad if she were late.

As she passed a dark street (_Jayne had always said to avoid that one; bad folk were about there, but she was in a hurry_), Kaylee was suddenly pulled into it from behind. A hand (_rough and calloused_) was placed over her mouth, stifling her scream. She felt heavy breathing against her ear and fear she hadn't felt since Early consumed her. She felt a strange tingle (_like sparks_) against her neck as the man holding her brushed her hair from her shoulder.

A shiver of disgust passed through Kaylee when the stranger sniffed her.

"Mmm," his voice was rough, "you smell…like strawberries."


	14. Remember

**Title:** Remember  
**Word count:** 200  
**Fandom: **The Lion King  
**Challenge: **#72 Remembered and Forgotten  
**Notes: **Don't own it!

* * *

A storm was brewing tonight. Clouds and the accompanying thunder rolled across the African savannah, flattening the long grass.

Xander closed his eye contentedly and sighed as the cooling wind caressed his face. Thunder rumbled loudly, almost as if a voice was speaking.

_You have forgotten who you are…_

Xander snapped his eye open and stared in amazement at the clouds above his head. They were shaped in the form of a majestic lion with a great, flowing mane, which seemed to be looking down somewhere nearby.

_Remember who you are…_

Sensing movement in the corner of his eye, Xander shifted his attention from the clouds above to another lion in the distance, this one made of flesh and blood, running towards the now receding clouds. He watched as the lion first slowed, then stopped dejectedly. A moment later a baboon joined him. It looked like they were having a conversation.

Xander blinked and turned on his heel, heading back to where he had made camp. He absently put a hand to his stomach. He really needed to remember to lay off the goat cheese before bed. Vampires and demons he could deal with, but talking lions were something else!


	15. She walks

**Title:** She Walks  
**Word count:** 200  
**Fandom: **Star Trek: First Contact  
**Challenge: **#72 Remembered and Forgotten  
**Notes: **Don't own it!

* * *

The Apocalypse had come and gone and humanity had done the unthinkable – it had survived. Angel's final stand may have ignited World War III, but it had freed humanity from Wolfram and Hart's clutches and a brighter future had emerged.

Illyria had looked down on humans as inferior beings, but she now understood why the half-breed had fought for them so fiercely. She had been there when Wolfram and Hart, on the very eve of their victory over humanity, had had it snatched from their clutches. The muck had not been cowed, but had even driven the demons out and had secured Earth as its own.

She had been pleased by the downfall of her enemies, but as the only survivor of the fight in the alley, Illyria had soon found herself without purpose.

This was expounded when the Council had ensured that the supernatural elements of the war were forgotten. But whatever magic they had wrought, had not affected Illyria, she who had been a god among gods.

So she watched as humanity grew. When Zephram Cochrane took to the stars, Illyria smiled and remembered what it was like to walk amongst them. She would find her place there.


	16. Dolls

**Title:** Dolls  
**Word Count:** 200  
**Fandom:** 'Allo 'Allo  
**Challenge:** #73 favourite things  
**Notes:** Don't own it.

* * *

Spike scowled as he ducked out of the way of a Kraut as he made his way across the little French square. Not that he was afraid of those bastards, but he didn't want that type of attention right now. He rolled his eyes when another patrol passed too close for comfort and took shelter in a small café nearby.

Upon entering, his ears were assaulted with the most awful screeching he had ever heard. And right there in the middle of it was his dark princess, dancing away after he had been searching for her for hours. The source of the noise turned out to be some tone-deaf hag who apparently thought that she was the life of the party. Spike had a sudden desire to, like the other patrons, stick pieces of cheese into his ears so he wouldn't have to listen.

At that moment Drusilla noticed him and twirled towards him. Spike smiled, despite the worry she had caused him. He reached out for her and she draped herself across him.

"What a pretty doll she is, my Spike," Drusilla cooed into his ear, vaguely gesturing at the screeching lady, "I think I'll call her Miss Edith."


	17. Finders Keepers and Improvisation

**Title:** Finders Keepers  
**Word Count:** 200  
**Fandom:** Lost  
**Challenge:** #73 favourite things  
**Notes:** Don't own it.

* * *

Sawyer swore under his breath softly as he rummaged through a suitcase. He was pretty sure the guy it belonged to had snuffed it during the crash. And if the man hadn't claimed it yet…well, possession was nine tenths of the law as far as Sawyer was concerned.

He finally uncovered something interesting among the amazing amount of tweed stuffed into the suitcase. Sawyer's eyes lit up as he lifted the thick, leather-bound books. He scowled a moment later, glancing around quickly.

Sawyer's frown deepened when he cracked open one of the books. What in the blazin' hell was a Watcher's Journal? Belonged to some crackpot by the name of Roger Wyndham-Price. The name sounded stuffy and boring. Sawyer glanced at the tweed jacket in the suitcase again. Must have been British.

He hefted the books lightly in his hand, debating whether to keep them or not. Aw, what the hell, a book was a book, wasn't it?

Later, as he was reading the diaries which were so mind numbingly boring that they had to be true, especially after experiencing all this strange shit right here on Mystery Island, only one sentence escaped Sawyer's lips.

"Son of a bitch!"

* * *

**Title:** Improvisation  
**Word Count:** 200  
**Fandom:** Lost  
**Challenge:** #74 lost and found  
**Notes:** Don't own it.

* * *

"You lost an entire airplane? Explain it to me, Lindsey, how in the hell did you lose an entire plane?!" Lilah said, storming into his office. Lindsey raised an eyebrow at her uncharacteristic display of emotion.

"Technically," he slowly lowered the file he had been reading, "_we_ lost an airplane."

"And that is the only thing stopping me from dancing on your grave."

"Lilah, I didn't know you cared."

"I don't, but when the Senior Partners find out, they'll want more than just our heads on silver platters."

Lindsey smirked.

"Then we just have to make sure they don't find out about this little setback."

"And how are you going to do that? More than 50 very carefully selected, very carefully manipulated people for one of our most important clients have just disappeared into thin air on the plane that we put them on! This project took years to bring to this point. How long do you think it will take if we have to start all over?!"

"Who says we'll have to?"

That stopped Lilah's rant in her tracks.

"What?"

Lindsey tossed her his file.

"They crashed _there_?!" She looked up and smiled wickedly. "We can work with that."


	18. Blast from the past

**Title:** Blast from the Past  
**Word Count:** 200  
**Fandom:** Heroes  
**Challenge:** #29 Legends  
**Notes:** Don't own it.

* * *

"Hey G, watcha readin'?"

Giles started, spilling papers everywhere. He cast a disapproving glance at Faith. She only smirked.

"I'm attempting to research the legend of Takezo Kensei."

Faith blinked.

"The what now?"

"It's a popular legend in Japanese mythology about a master swordsman and the trials he went through." He showed her the picture in the book he had been reading.

"Cool, G, but that doesn't have much to do with our line of work, if you catch my drift."

"Yes, well, I was more interested in the tales of the legendary sword that he possessed. It was said to have some mystical properties that would be worth investigating."

Faith's eyes lit up at the mention of a sword.

"Sweet. Can I have first dibs on it if I help with the research?"

Giles rolled his eyes and pointed to a book nearby. Grinning, Faith sat down and started flipping through it.

She frowned when she came upon another drawing of Kensei and what seemed to be two of his companions - a pretty woman and a smallish Asian dude. Faith blinked and studied the picture more closely.

"Hey, wasn't this guy on the bus with me last week?!"


	19. Baked Goods and Replacement

**Title:** Baked Goods  
**Word Count:** 200  
**Fandom:** Harry Potter  
**Challenge:** #03 Cookies  
**Notes:** Don't own it.

* * *

Snape growled when his quill broke from the force he had been exerting upon it. He yanked open his desk drawer and slammed it shut when he saw that it was filled to the brim with cookies.

Cookies tumbled off from the top of his desk and Snape resisted the urge to bash his head against the table. Potions disaster or no potions disaster, this was getting ridiculous! He was going to strangle that little pixie very slowly.

First she had managed to blow up his classroom with a combination of ingredients that even he hadn't thought to be volatile and now she was trying to drown him in cookies!

His door suddenly opened and Willow spilled into his office, the tray of cookies that she was carrying flying out of her hands. More cookies joined the ones already on his floor. Willow froze and let out a squeak of distress.

"I'll make more!" She fled his office before he could stop her. Snape balefully eyed one of the cookies sitting innocently on his table. Perhaps she would stop making them if he actually ate some? He glared harder, dismissing the thought. Now, where had he put his spare quill?

* * *

**Title:** Replacement  
**Word Count:** 200  
**Fandom:** Austin Powers  
**Challenge:** #36 Family Values  
**Notes:** Don't own it.

* * *

"Scott," Dr. Evil said, "This just isn't working." The sentence hung in the air. Scott stared at Dr. Evil in confusion.

"What do you mean 'this just isn't woking'?!"

"Well, you see," Dr. Evil shifted in his seat, "You're just not evil enough."

"What?! I'll show you evil!" Scott leapt to his feet, "I can be ten times as evil as you! Or him!" He pointed to Mini Me who was smugly sitting beside Dr. Evil. Dr. Evil delicately frowned.

"Scott, sit down."

"No! You want me to be evil, I'll be evil! I'll start by not taking orders from some lousy, incompetent jerk!"

Mini Me growled and made a mad dash across the table to attack Scott. Dr. Evil pulled on his leash.

"Down, Mini Me! What did I tell you about attacking Scott?" Dr. Evil said benevolently.

"I hate you!" Scott yelled. Dr. Evil settled back down in his chair.

"If you're done with the teenage rebellion for the moment, I'd like you to meet your replacement. Scott," Dr. Evil paused for dramatic effect, "meet your long lost evil twin brother!"

A clap of thunder sounded at his announcement, followed by Oz placidly entering the room.

"Hi," he said.


	20. Meeting Death and Vacation Plans

**Title:** Where no Slayer has gone before...  
**Word Count:** 200  
**Fandom:** The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy  
**Challenge:** #23 Rubber Duckies  
**Notes:** Don't own it.

* * *

Buffy hadn't been sure of what to expect when Dawn had said 'I wish you would just take a hike!' in anger, but it sure hadn't been this.

The room looked like something out of Star Trek, but for the glaringly large bathtub in the center of it. Standing beside it were three men, one in a uniform doing a remarkable impression of having a stick up his rear end, one, bizarrely enough, in a bathrobe and a third who seemed to have no need to blink.

"Splendid, Number One! Fetch another jynnan tonnyx for our guest, would you?"

Buffy gaped, staring at the man in the bathtub. He was playing with a rubber ducky. She had the sinking feeling that he was in charge of this place. She was going to kill Dawn when she got back!

Suddenly, the unblinking fellow appeared at her side, waving something in her face. It was a book with 'Don't panic!' written on the cover in large, friendly letters.

"Wha-?"

"Keep looking at the book!"

She turned around in a daze when she felt the tap on her shoulder.

"Your drink, ma'am."

Buffy gratefully grabbed it. It tasted surprisingly like whiskey and soda.

* * *

**Title:** Vacation Plans  
**Word Count:** 200  
**Fandom:** Professor Balthazar  
**Challenge:** #02 Character: Buffy  
**Notes:** Don't own it. Probably the most obscure crossover ever.

* * *

"You want me to go where?" Buffy asked Giles. She could practically hear him cleaning his glasses over the phone.

"It's only a short trip, Buffy. You are the closest Council operative to his location and his assistance will be essential with the coming apocalypse."

"But…vacation!" She glanced at the faxed photo of the funny little professor she was supposed to meet. She couldn't fathom how he could help them.

"It's not even a one hour flight, Buffy! But that is beside the point, this professor Balthazar has an absolutely uncanny ability to invent just about anything – he could be of great help to us if we manage to bring him aboard."

Buffy sighed, flipping through his file. She frowned when she saw the name of the town where Balthazar resided.

"Giles, why does this guy have a city named after him and where in the hell is it?"

"I believe it is somewhere in Croatia, but the actual location is quite elusive. It's part of what led us to him…"

"So you have no idea."

"None whatsoever, but you must understand the seriousness of this-"

Buffy sighed and interrupted Giles.

"Fine! But there better be some cute guys there!"

* * *

**Title:** Meeting Death  
**Word Count**: 100  
**Fandom:** The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy  
**Challenge:** #63 Death  
**Notes:** Don't own it. Yeah, no idea where this one came from.

"Ask not for whom de bell tolls!" Eerie thunder clapped over the dark, hooded figure. "It tolls for dee!" He swung his scythe around.

Buffy watched the figure in confusion.

"Giles, why does Death have a Jamaican accent?"

"I…honestly have no idea."

Buffy shrugged.

"Slay?"

"By all means."

Giles watched with interest as Buffy subdued the Grim Reaper.

"Aw, girl, why'd you have to ruin my speech? I was just getting' to da best part!"

"Grim!"

Buffy turned to see a little girl glaring at them.

"Oh boy…" Grim sighed, "'til next time den, Slayer!" The two disappeared.

"That…was strange."


	21. Close Shave

**Title: **Close Shave  
**Word Count: **200**  
Fandom: **Sweeney Todd  
**Challenge: **#35 Time travel.**  
Notes: **I don't own 'em, but Sweeney Todd owns my soul.

* * *

"I'm so sorry, Giles!" Willow squeaked. Giles sternly glared at Willow.

"Just as long as it doesn't happen again."

"No! No more time-traveling spells from yours truly, no siree!" Willow babbled. Giles smiled slightly, relenting.

"But it is good to be back. 19th century London would not have been my first choice of time and place to travel to."

"I know, I was all insane with worry! What if you had been mugged, or dumped in a ditch somewhere, or, or…"

"Calm yourself, Willow! I am fine as you can see. In fact, I was just on my way to get a shave with some Sweeney Todd fellow. Strange man, but quite good with a razor."

Willow paled at the name.

"Good lord, are you alright?"

"Yup." She said weakly, "Good thing I got you out when I did, then, huh?"

Giles stared at her in confusion.

"What are you talking about?"

Willow just pointed to the reams of old newspapers she had acquired upon pinpointing the time and place she had sent him to. Giles read the first headline and was suddenly glad for Willow's excellent timing. He had really had no wish to become part of a meat pie.


	22. Delays and Directions

Title: Delays and Directions  
FFA pairing: Spike/Donna Noble  
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who or BtVS. BBC and Joss Whedon do.  
A/N:Doctor Who has overtaken my brain. A sort of prequel to Encounters in the Fourth Dimension.

"I am going to kill that skinny streak of alien nothing!" Donna fumed, stalking down the street.

It was so typical of him to wander off and get captured while she had been sightseeing. Five minutes! It had only taken him five minutes to get captured! It was like he was trying to set a record or something. And now she was stuck in the past, helplessly getting lost while trying to search for the Doctor.

She was so busy angrily contemplating the various ways she was going to maim the Doctor when she caught up with him that she waked right into someone. Cursing, she almost fell to the ground in a tangle of period appropriate skirts and petticoats.

"Alright there, love?" an amused voice asked. She looked up to see a young man, all blue eyes and cheekbones, dressed in scruffy clothes and a long battered coat. Donna would probably have started flirting with the man who had caught her had it not been for her worry, anger and the sudden sensation of wandering hands.

"Oi!" she batted them away, "Hands to yourself, mate!"

Chuckling, he let go of her but didn't back out of her personal space.

"Name's Spike, love. Where are you off to in such a rush?"

"Not that it's any of your business," Donna pushed him away, (_was he _sniffing_ her?!_)"but I'm looking for a friend of mine."

"Oh, is that how it is?" he gave a filthy leer.

"Don't get fresh with me, sunshine! I'm not in the mood. Especially with someone named after a dog!"

Donna glared at him, her hands on her hips. Spike wasn't bothered at all by her glare. Instead, he leaned against the wall of a building, watching her intently. People taking an evening stroll in the old London streets paid them no attention.

"This friend of yours," Spike started casually, sizing her up with a casual leer.

"Yeah?"

"He wouldn't be a skinny bloke, crazy hair, long brown coat?"

"That's him alright," Donna snorted, "did you see where he ran off to?"

Spike smirked. "Nope."

"But you just said- that's it, mate! Either you've seen him or you haven't. I'm not in the mood to play your games. Now you tell me where he is or I'll slap that smirk right off your face!" She raised her hand to do just that. A flicker of annoyance crossed the man's face. He shifted his stance slightly and if Donna hadn't been so pissed off, she would have had the good sense to be afraid. Well, noone had accused her of having any good sense yet, especially after running after a timetravelling alien.

"He didn't _run_ off anywhere," Spike drawled, "I saw him being _dragged_ off down to the factories."

Donna grew very still. Had Spike known her better, he would have recognized the warning signs of an imminent slap.

"You saw him being dragged off? And you didn't to help him?"

He shrugged.

"Why would I? If the Cult of Braknor wants him, they can have him. S'not like he'll actually be their prophecied 'Lonely God'. That lot couldn't find a worthy sacrifice for their lord and destroyer even if it was right in front of them. Besides, Angelus'd be right pissed if he found me mucking about their business."

"Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me!"

"No really, the Braknor are bloody territorial and Angelus is shit scared of messing with them," he gleefully said, "Wonder what would happen if I did muck up their plans?" Spike mused.

"I don't care about their bloody plans!" Donna yelled. A few people cast disapproving glances their way, before hurring off. Spike looked entirely too amused at her outburst. Donna breathed in deeply, trying to reign in her temper.

"Right. Well, every few hundred years they go on a 'holy search'," the sarcasm was dripping from his voice, "for the 'most venerable vessel' for their Bringer of Darkness. The Cult of Braknor are the most pathetic bunch of demon worshippers I've ever seen."

"It's always some sacrifice, innit?" Donna bit out, ignoring everything else in his speech, "It's like he just can't help getting into these messes. When I find him, I'll drag his skinny Time Lord arse back to the TARDIS in pieces. See him recover from that."

"What, no 'what the hell are you talking about?', no 'demons aren't real?', nothing? Not even a bit of screaming?" he sounded innordantly dissappointed.

"It'll take more than some alien demons to get me screaming, sunshine. Now, where'd they take him?"

"Relax, love. It's not like he's really the 'Oncoming Storm' the cult needs."

"Believe me, with the way his luck goes there's no way he's not the one they're looking for," she sounded resigned. The Doctor had a right bloody knack for getting into these situations.

"Still," Spike grinned, slinking closer to Donna, brushing her hair from her neck, "no need to rush-"

"Oi!" she jerked away. "Back off, sunshine or you'll be getting the Oncoming Slap!"

Spike growled – actually growled at her and took another step forwards. Donna slapped him.

"Bitch!" he yelled, staring at her, his eyes tinged yellow. Donna's eyes widened, but she stood her ground. She could panick about his murderous inhuman glare later. What was it about aliens (or whatever he was) that they couldn't help but pop up in London all of the time?

"And there's more where that came from!" she rallied, raising her arm threateningly again, "Now, if you wouldn't mind – some directions please!"

The glare faded into incredulity. Spike stared at her, mouth open slightly.

"You cheeky little bint," his tone carried a hint of admiration.

"Sometime this evenin'!"

"Down the road, take a left, you should see the factory chimneys from there," he blinked.

"Right," she nodded, "Thanks for nothing! And if I see you again, whatever you are, it's more than a slap you'll be getting!" She threw over her shoulder, running down the cobblestone street the best she could in her shoes. Spike simply stared after her.

"Right, next time: bite first, talk later."


End file.
